


Every Weapon That You Gave

by hazcentric



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Gen, Hurt, Injury, Sickfic, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-28 09:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazcentric/pseuds/hazcentric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And at that Fun Ghoul has to laugh. Because the irony was not lost on him. Or maybe it was some kind of joke. A sick and twisted joke for those brainless Dracs.  The great Party Poison dying because of poison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was as nice as a day as one could get in California nowadays.  The sun wasn't too scorching hot, and, if you stay really still, you can feel a ghost of a breeze brush against your skin. ‘Of course,’ Fun Ghoul muses, ‘if there's a nice day here, I really don't want to see what the other Zones are like. Or if the other Zones were still scraping by.’ They’re lucky here in Cali- the heat they can somehow stand (other than the occasional fainting spell from Kobra, but honestly, Kobra would probably have a heat spell in the middle of fuckin Antarctica) and the territory was wide open, so, unlike in the other Zones, they actually see when the Draculoids are trying to get them. And while they lack the benefit of shelter and cover, shooting Draculoids is better for their cause in the long run, and fun as fuck.

So, all in all, not the worst way to start the beginning of the week. Or was it the middle? Fun Ghoul doesn’t bother keeping track anymore. All their days revolve more or less around the same schedule- wake up, patrol, steal whatever they can find, kill some Dracs, and go to bed. Sometimes, if they’re feeling particularly badass, they’ll kill some Dracs first, and then steal whatever they can find.

It isn't as terrible as it sounds Fun Ghoul knew it’s much worse out in the other Zones. Dr. D usually sends out quick broadcasts over the airwaves on the other Zones' conditions every few hours (although exactly how he gets that information beats Fun Ghoul) and Poison always has the portable radio on, even though it's old and crappy and you can barely make out anything over the static. But, Poison would never throw it out claiming he’s "sentimental or some shit". The other Killjoys know, though, that having that radio near makes him feel safer. As the group's leader, he has to not only protect three complete idiots (as he so fondly points out every time they screw something up, which is often), a tiny girl and himself, but also the Zone.

Zone 6 escaped relatively unscratched because there are only really five of them, excluding the occasional motorbaby or zonerunner, and they were pretty isolated. So while the other Zones are being exterminated by Draculoids, or starving, or freezing, they’re running around like a group of nine year olds left home alone for the first time in their lives, blowing shit up, staying up late, shooting at random cacti, and then blowing up some more shit.

Of course, that’s probably a bit of an exaggeration. Usually, they aren’t even in their Zone. Whenever they hear an emergency broadcast of some sort from Dr. D or the other Zone leaders, they’re gone. As the Fabulous Killjoys, they have a responsibility to help the other runners and motorbabies. And they do the best they can. But while some days are full of excitement, and near-to-death experiences, others are dull and slow.

Like today.

Fun Ghoul can already check off three of the five daily tasks. He wakes up, hungry- but when are they not hungry? Getting a decent and satisfying meal around here was as possible as pigs flying. And although a lot of weird shits happened over these past few years, Fun Ghoul doesn’t see any flying pigs in the sky. After dressing in his protective gear (the acid rain’s a _bitch_ ) he heads to the dining area of their base, which is currently a diner. He wolfs down a can of Power Pup quickly. They aren’t really sure who the food was meant for, since probably even dogs wouldn’t eat something so disgusting.

As he’s finishing, Jet Star comes in carrying Missile Kid on his shoulders. She’s giggling happily, playing with his hair. Jet Star sits down across from him, Kid in his lap, grabs a can of the nasty paste and stares at it in disdain.

“Don’t we have anything else to eat?” he asks playfully, opening the can.

“Nope. Only good boys get the five star gourmet entrée.” He replies.

“Ah. That explains why you’re eating this shit.”

“Language!” the Kid exclaims in exasperation. She’s been with them long enough to know that they’ll never stop cursing like sailors, but she never fails to bring it up every time they do.

“See,” Jet Star tells her, “This is why you shouldn’t spend time with DJ Hot Chimp. She messes up the morals that we try so hard to teach you.”

The two men laugh, and Fun Ghoul reaches over across the table to ruffle her curly hair.

By then, Party Poison and Kobra Kid come in. They’re trying, and failing, to look innocent. As they come to sit next to them, Fun Ghoul catches an undeniable whiff of cigarette smoke. Before he can accuse them of anything though, Kobra Kid says, “We had to fix the Trans-Am. Dunno what happen to it. The engine started smoking.”

“Engine smoke my ass.” Jet Star tells them.

Party Poison rolls his eyes dramatically, extracting a squashed up box of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. He throws them to Fun Ghoul who catches the box.

“That’s more like it.” Jet Star announces.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s his turn to patrol the western border, and he loves doing so because that's where the most Draculoid scum hung out. It’s also furthest away from their base, so he doesn’t have to worry about Jet Star deciding to spontaneously drop in and help him with patrol.

His patrol goes smoothly. He doesn’t spot any Dracs, but finds one of their abandoned campsites. He grabs a knapsack full of rations (noticing, with delight, that there’s granola bars) and a medical kit. It was practically empty, but there was still some gauze and iodine left. All in all, a pretty damn good patrol.

He heads back to base, hoping that everyone was still on patrol. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could smuggle some of those granola bars into his bunk. Although he knows that it isn’t fair to his friends, he knows for a fact that Jet Star sometimes does it too. Kobra, the lucky bastard, doesn’t have to worry about stealing rations, because Poison usually gives him and the Kid at least half of his meal. Perks of being related and a kid, he supposes.

But it seems that luck wasn't on his side today. Once he was inside base, he was greeted by two very much freaked out killjoys and a crying Missile Kid.

"Where the fuck have you been?!" Jet Star yells at him as soon as he steps through the diner’s door.

"Just finished up patrol. Chill, dude. I found some shit." Fun Ghoul replies, holding up the knapsack full of goodies.

"Didn't you get our broadcasts? We were calling you for over an hour!"

Actually, he didn’t get the broadcasts. Simply because he forgot to bring his transmitter, as usual. He knows though, that if he tells the guys that, he’ll be in even deeper shit than he is in now.

"Nope," he lies easily, "Transmitter must be broken. What happen? Shouldn't you guys be patrolling the borders?"

"There was... An accident." Jet Star says slowly.

"An accident? What happen?"

"Poison." was all Jet Star has to say.

"Whattya mean Poison? What happened?”

"There was an ambush." Kobra replies after a pause. "Poison was attacked from behind. He killed off all those motherfuckers, but..."

"Where is he?!" Fun Ghoul said, trying not to go into panic mode. Kobra Kid was prone to over exaggerating. Poison probably got just got a bit scratched up, that’s all.

"He's in there." Kobra said, jerking his thumb in the direction of what used to be the diner’s office. When they found this place abandoned, Poison quickly claimed the room for himself, not giving anyone a say in the matter. "It... It's not pretty."

"How bad?"

“He… might not make it.”

Missile Kid, who seemed to be calming down her tears, burst into renewed sobs. Fun Ghoul stares at her surprised. The Kid was usually a really quiet thing, only acting up when she got cranky. But, Fun Ghoul supposes he can understand that. He’s nearly twenty five years older than her, and he got cranky sometimes too.

"There was so much blood! And... And Poison wasn't breathing! And he can't leave! He can't! Who else will tell me stories and take care of Kobra! And... And..."

She trails off, sniffing loudly. Everyone knows that Missile Kid likes Poison the most out of all of them. No one takes it personally. After all, he’s the one who found her and took her in. Plus, he spends more time catering to her than anyone else. There’s a wordless agreement between all of them to just let Poison take care of their youngest companion. It was almost as if the little girl fills the void in his heart where Bandit and Lindsey once were.

Fun Ghoul’s torn as Jet Star bent down to hug the poor little girl. He knows he should comfort her too, but damn it, Poison’s hurt. Poison. Their fearless leader, who takes more bullshit from them than anyone else would probably be physically capable of. Poison, who sneaks Kobra and Grace his food even though he’s obviously hungry and way too skinny. Poison, who does double duty patrol more than once for Jet Star who’s too lazy to haul his ass out of bed. And it’s Poison, damn it, who covers Fun Ghoul's ass more times than he can count. Poison can't just die. If he did, they would all fall apart- literally and fugitively.

Making up his mind, he brushes past Jet Star, Missile Kid and Kobra and enters Poison’s room. Nothing can be worse than Poison dying. Not even little Grace's tears (which probably makes him sound like a complete ass, but, whatever).

Nothing could have prepared him for what he sees in the room though. While nothing can be as horrible as Poison dying, there are things that come pretty damn lose.  And Poison looks terrible. His normally California sun-kissed skin is pale. He’s passed out, but the tendons in his neck look like they’re about to snap and his eyes are clenched tight. Fun Ghoul can't tell where the blood begins and stops.

"He did die." Kobra says from behind him, coming up to his side, "Jet Star had to give him CPR. It was terrible."

"Why didn't you bandage him?" Fun Ghoul asks, looking at the small pool of blood forming around their leader.

"We did. I guess you can't see it. There was so much blood."

"We need to rebandage those wounds. He can get an infection. "

"I know. Star went out to find something that can be used as a makeshift bandage. We're all out, and it's only been an hour."

“I have some in the knapsack I brought. It’s not much though.”

“I’ll go tell him.” Kobra says already out the door.

He comes back quickly, Jet Star and the knapsack in tow.

“I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t answer our broadcasts then.” Jet Star tells him taking the gauze out.

"Can't you give him anything? For the pain?" he asks, ignoring the jibe.

"We would, but we’re all out of painkillers."

Shit. Not good. Maybe there’s some painkillers at that campsite he found today. He didn’t even think to check.

"What's the damage? How'd you guys even know he was in trouble?" he asks, already planning the trip and back. Maybe he’ll take Missile Kid.

"Apparently his transmitter works." Kobra replies dryly.

Ouch. He deserves it, but still.

"He just shot the last Drac down, although exactly how he did it beats me. He has two gunshot wounds, and half his leg was somehow blown up. Those fuckers probably had remote bombs. He probably has a concussion too." Kobra sounds hollow and not completely there.

Fun Ghoul narrows his eyes. There’s something else. While the damage is terrible, it could be worse. He knows for a fact that Party survived more than an odd gun wound.

"What else happened Kobra?"

"What?"

"Dude, I know you. You're hiding something. What else happened?"

"We found this in his arm." Jet Star replies after a moment of hesitation. He picks up a strange looking syringe of the table next to the bed, and shows it to Frank.

"What the fuck is that?"

"We don't know exactly. Probably some kind of poison." He says unwrapping the bandages on Party’s chest and shoulder.

And at that Fun Ghoul has to laugh. Because the irony was not lost on him. Or maybe it was some kind of joke. A sick and twisted joke for those brainless Dracs.  The great Party Poison dying because of fuckin poison.

"He hasn't shown any side effects yet. Or withdrawal symptoms. We don't... We can't..." and with that, Kobra also burst into tears. Fun Ghoul couldn’t imagine how hard this must be on him. Party was his brother, and even those brainless Dracs could tell that the two share a strong bond.

"Oh fuck. Fuckin Christ. Gerard, what did you do? Oh god. I'll bring those sons of bitches back to life and kill them myself." Fun Ghoul whispers angrily, not knowing what else to say.

"I agree." Jet Star says, throwing the soiled bandages on the ground. “Kobra, go get some water. We need to clean these again.”

When Kobra leaves, Jet Star turns to him. “We need to get Dr. D and Show Pony here right now. Ask them to bring any medical supplies they can get.”

Fun Ghoul nods. That makes sense. If there’s anyone with enough BL/ind experience its Dr. D. He’d probably not only knows how to get Party to stop bleeding, but what he was injected with as well.

He leaves the room and walks to their broadcasting station. If they were lucky, Dr. D was at his base in Zone 5 and could get here in half an hour flat. He grabs the transmitter, presses the emergency dial and hopes that, for once, luck was on their side.

"This is Dr. D from the zones crashqueens. What can I do for my favorite killjoys?"

Fun Ghoul sighes in relief, sends a quick thanks to whoever's looking out for his friend up there, and  quickly tells Dr. D what’s going on.

“We need medical supplies and such stat.” he finishes.

“I’ll get DJ Hot Chimp to get us there immediately. You have to clean out his wounds and try to stop the blood flow. Got it?” He replies.

“What about the syringe?”

"We’ll worry about that when the time comes.” And with that Dr. D signs off.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When he comes back to Party’s room, Jet Star’s finishing up wrapping the bandages.

“What did Dr. D say?” Kobra asks worrying his lip between his teeth.

“They’ll be here soon. How’s he doing?”

“The bleeding stopped a little, but if he doesn’t get any medicine soon, he’ll get an infection.”

"Let's hope he gets some soon then." a hoarse voice buts in.

The trio looks at the redhead in shock. His eyes are partially open, and he’s grimacing, but Fun Ghoul doesn’t think he’s ever been happier to see him awake.

"Gerard! What the fuck dude?!" Kobra exclaims embracing his brother gingerly. Poison wraps one arm around Kobra, wincing slightly, not even reprimanding his brother for the use of his real name.

"What?" he asks honestly confused.

"What's your problem man? Are you honestly looking for an early death?" Fun Ghoul yells. He knows he shouldn't. Poison’s weak, in pain, and probably very much close to death. He can't help it though. How is he supposed to set a good example if all he does is get himself shot up every time he leaves camp?

"It's not a fashion statement, it's fuckin death wish, right?" he asks grinning weakly.

It takes him a second to get it. And then he barks out a laugh. Not because it’s funny, because Poison rarely is, but because if Poison’s joking around like that, that must mean he's not going to die soon. Hopefully. Either that, or he's joking because he knows he's gonna die soon. Fun Ghoul hopes for the former.

Anyway, the tension seems to be sucked out of the room in an instant. Jet Star sags in relief, and joins in laughing with Kobra Kid.

"Motherfucker! Don't ever do that again!" he finally says, finding his voice.

"Don't plan on it."

"What the fuck happened Poison?" Star demands.

"Whattya mean?" comes the confused reply.

"Don't play fuckin martyr Party." Kobra told him, detangling himself from his brother, "We find you half dead surrounded by Dracs. Dracs which you somehow miraculously killed even with two gunshot wounds and a fucked-up leg. Not even you could possibly do that.”

Fun Ghoul wants to yell at both of them. Poison’s hurt! And all those two care about was discovering a new trick to kill Dracs. What was wrong with them?

"Well?"

"I-" Poison starts to explain, but quickly stops and grips his head giving a pained scream.

"Poison?!" They’re all at his side in an instant.

"Oh God." he manages to gasp out between alternating curses and moans of pain, "God. Make it stop! Make it STOP!"

"Poison, man, you got to tell us what’s wrong, or else we won't be able to help you." Jet Star says in that calm voice that radiates peace and tranquility and shit.

‘Seriously,’ Fun Ghoul thinks, ‘you would think that he would be a teeny-tiny bit more concerned.’

Poison screams again. This time it’s a full blown bellow of pain. His eyes are clenched tightly and his hands are gripping the fire truck red hair on his head even harder.

‘Shitshitshit.’ is all Fun Ghoul thinks. Poison must be in a real amount of pain to scream like that. He doesn't show weakness. He's the one that didn't even shed a single fuckin tear when Korse broke his arm. He just punched that motherfucker in the face with his other one.

"Gee?" Kobra asks quietly, touching his brother lightly on his good shoulder.

Party recoils as if being burnt.

"Jesus Poison! What the hell is wrong?!" Star demands, his calm facade disappearing, panic dripping into his voice.

He doesn’t answer. Poison just passes out.

"Shit. Shit. Shit. What do we do now? Fuck! Poison! Wake up!" Kobra demands, shaking Party's limp body.

But Poison doesn’t even stir. They watch in horror as a trickle of blood flows from his nose, almost as if in slow motion.

“Well shit.” Jet Star says.

Fun Ghoul couldn’t agree more.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“We have a problem.” Fun Ghoul anxiously informs Dr. D as soon as he exits the colorful van.

“Did you get the bleeding to stop?” the man in the wheelchair asks, making a beeline to the diner.

“No… Well, we did. But only for a few minutes. It looked promising, but then he had… An episode of some sort?” he explains holding the door to the diner open.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“He woke up coherent enough. But then. Fuck. He started screaming at us to make it stop and shit, holding his head. And then he passed out. He hasn’t woken up since.”

“It might’ve been the side effects of that drug. Grab the syringe and give it to Tommy. He’ll smuggle it into Zone 3 for testing.”

“Right.” He agrees opening the door to Party’s room.

The room smells like blood- an unmistakable metallic stench that fills his nostrils as soon as he takes a step into it. Jet Star is leaning over Party trying to staunch the blood flow from the bullet wound on his shoulder. Kobra is pacing frantically by the door, and almost falls on top of Dr. D when he rolls in.

“Thank god!” he exclaims. “You have to help him! We have no idea what to do.”

“That’s why I’m here,” the older man responds, briefly clasping his hand on Kobra’s shoulder, before rolling up to the Poison’s bedside.

Jet Star and Dr. D start talking over Party’s body, using words that Fun Ghoul hasn’t even heard of. He has a fleeting thought that the only reason Jet Star is their self-proclaimed medic is because he knows all these long medical terms.

He remembers what Dr. D says about the syringe, and decides that if he can’t be of any use here, he’ll go be useful somewhere else. Grabbing the small medical instrument, he heads out to the van.

Show Pony and DJ Hot Chimp are waiting outside. Show Pony’s crouching by the Kid, comforting the small girl by the looks of it. Fun Ghoul once again feels guilty for not paying attention to the younger Killjoy, when it’s painfully obvious that she’s taking the accident just as hard, perhaps even harder, than them.

“How’s it going?” DJ Hot Chimp asks as soon as he’s in earshot.

“Oh, same old, same old. Our leader got in a clap with a bunch of Dracs and almost got ghosted. But, on the bright side, I found some granola bars.” He practically snarls.

“Don’t be such an asshole.” She retorts.

“Well then don’t ask such stupid questions.”

 “I see you’re being even more difficult than usual.” She simply states, visibly amused at his antics.

“I see that you’re being even more of a bitch than usual.” He counters.

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he regrets them. DJ Hot Chimp helped them more times than they can possibly count, from smuggling art supplies from Battery City for Poison and the Kid to driving them all around the Zones. She’s probably the _least_ bitchy out of all of them.

Fun Ghoul once again feels like the worst shit ever.

“Sorry.” He mumbles, looking down.

He feels Chimp’s arms circle him and pull him into an embrace.

“It’s fine,” she empathizes, “I mean, I’d probably be the same if that was Cherri Cola in Party’s place.”

He nods, not trusting his voice, and leans in closer. DJ Hot Chimp is soft and smells like dust and the sun, and while he probably should be used to the smell, he’s _not_. It reminds him somewhat of home, and he wonders when the smell of his mom’s homemade eggplant parmesan and car oil was replaced by dust and sun of all things.

“He’ll be fine, you’ll see. He’s been through hell and back. Remember how banged up he was after the Wars?”

Fun Ghoul does. The Helium Wars managed to kill off almost all of their friends. They all took the deaths of their loved ones hard. Sometimes, he lays awake at night, thinking of those days full of chaos and demise.  Cruel as it may sound, he’s happy that Jamia and the kids didn’t make it. He wouldn’t want them to see the world like this- always on the run, never truly getting anywhere. He wouldn’t want them to see _him_ like this either- almost as lowly as those Dracs, shooting empty shells of what was once a loving mother or a rebellious teenager.

But, as hard as it was to mourn the loss of their dead friends, it was probably harder to think of those captured. Those people that had all of their feelings and thoughts and memories siphoned out of them and made into walking robots. They all established a rule of not taking off the Dracs’ masks after they kill them, because sometimes, it’s better to be left in the dark about some things. They learned that the hard away after the man under a mask turned out to be Bob Bryar.

Gerard, Mikey, Ray and Frank all died in the Wars. Party Poison, Kobra Kid, Jet Star and Fun Ghoul were all born during them.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

DJ Hot Chimp and Show Pony leave to Zone 5 to find Tommy Chowmein, and hopefully, find out whatever the hell was in that syringe shortly later. After the van rolls off towards Route Guano and the dust settles, Fun Ghoul kneels down next to Grace- who’s still crying, and pulls her into a hug. After a few minutes of just holding the little girl, and waiting for her sobs to subdue, he pulls away.

“Better?” he whispers, brushing his calloused thumb across her cheek, wiping away some tears.

She nods, but he’s not convinced at all. Missile Kid has been around the four of them long enough to pick up their habits. Along with Party’s drawing and Star’s hair styling, she also claimed Kobra’s poker face for herself.

“Hey, hey. Don’t cry, ok? Party would hate to see that beautiful face of yours covered in tears, princess.”

She sniffs defiantly, and rubs her sleeve across her face.

“There you go, princess.” He murmurs.

“Fun Ghoul? Party’s gonna be just fine right? I mean, he’s not going to end up like Mom is he?”

“Of course not sweetie. Just wait and see. Party will be back to himself in no time, ok?”

“You wouldn’t lie to me right?” she asks.

“Never princess.” He swears.

“Pinky promise?” she whispers hoarsely, holding her pinky finger towards him.

He wraps his pinky around hers, and thinks ‘You better not even _think_ about dying Party’ after seeing the pure trust in his youngest companion’s eyes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jet Star and Dr. D are arguing when Fun Ghoul and the Kid come back into the room.

“We need antibiotics!” is the first thing they hear as soon as they enter.

“And who knows how that will affect whatever the hell he’s been injected with?!” Dr. D counters.

“So we wait until he gets an infection? Sounds like a fuckin plan! Why don’t we just leave him here to die while we’re at it? It’s practically the same thing!” Jet Star contends.

“You know it’s not.” Dr. D insists, “We’ll get him the antibiotics after we find out what that poison was. Mixing antibiotics and whatever the hell that was might end up being a death sentence itself!”

Kobra turns to Dr. D and says, “I think we should risk it.”

“Do you really?” the older man condescends, “Think about this- both of you. We can prevent the infection a bit longer. Long enough for Tommy and Show Pony to get that syringe to Zone 3 and get in analyzed. Even if he gets an infection during that time, we’ll manage to fight it with antibiotics. But, I’m not going to let you make some deadly drug cocktail and kill him faster!”

“Sorry to bother you guys, but I’d thought you’d like to know that Show Pony and Chimp left.” He butts in. Although watching people argue is one of his favorite pastimes, it’s not as entertaining when it’s Party’s _life_ they’re arguing about, and the Kid looks like she’s about to cry again.

Dr. D shoots Jet Star and Kobra Kid a triumphant look.

“So, yeah.” he clears his throat awkwardly, “They said they’ll be back by sunset if they can.”

Jet Star rolls his eyes and looks at Dr. D with a look that can only be described as ‘I want to murder you, but that would be counterproductive, so I won’t yet, but watch your back old man’.

Well, maybe not exactly, but the sentiment was still there.

“If they don’t get here by dusk, I’m giving him antibiotics.” Is all he says before storming out of the room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Fun Ghoul’s sitting on the steps of the diner waiting for Show Pony and Tommy to show up. He’s smoking a cigarette from the box Party gave him earlier. There’s probably something oddly poetic about that, and if there’s one thing he hates more than this goddamn life they’ve been living lately, its poetry. So, he’s pointedly ignoring whatever poetic irony this situation might have, and lights up another fag.

“How’s it going crash queen?” a voice asks from behind, startling him from his thoughts.

His hand immediately goes to the green zap in his holster before he realizes that it’s just Dr. D.

“Jesus Dr.” he snaps, “You scared the shit outta me.”

“Sorry.” the older man chuckles, not looking very sorry at all. He rolls himself up to where Fun Ghoul’s sitting and nods out to the horizon. “Seen anything yet?”

“Not a goddamn thing.” Fun Ghoul answers.

They sit like that for a few more minutes, a comfortable silence between them. Fun Ghoul likes Dr. D because, surprisingly for an illegal radio pirate, he’s a man of little words. Yet, he somehow always manages to find the exact thing to say for whatever situation.

“I’m not being an asshole.” Dr. D states, still looking out onto the horizon. The sun is starting to set, bathing everything in an orange light. For all its barren wasteland looks, Fun Ghoul doesn’t think he’s ever seen pretty sunsets than the ones in Zone 6.

“I know.” He responds simply. Dr. D really does have their best interests at heart, even though they’re sometimes not expressed the way they should be.

The man in the wheelchair nods and the two of them continue looking out into the distance.

Finally, the van pulls up in front of them. Fun Ghoul exhales in relief, and opens the door of the diner yelling “They’re here!”

The guys practically trip over each other trying to get out of the room, making Fun Ghoul snicker a bit.

“Where’s Missile Kid?” he asks Kobra.

“She’s gonna stay by Poison’s side. Y’know. Just… in case.”

Fun Ghoul can feel his eyes widen a bit. “You sure about that? I mean you saw what happen last time…”

“She wanted to stay.” Jet Star explains, “She has your stubbornness- we couldn’t change her mind.”

“Yeah? Well she has your hair.” he retorts, inwardly cringing. That’s like the lamest comeback in history.

“That was terrible.” Kobra says, voicing Fun Ghoul’s thoughts out loud, making the shorter man glare at him.

They leave the diner just as the van door opens and Tommy, Show Pony, News A Go Go and Agent Cherri Cola pile out.

“What’s the 411 on Party Poison’s condition?” News A Go Go yells, making her way to them.

“So far stable.” Kobra Kid answers, “But we’re not sure for how long.”

“Did you find out what was in the syringe?” Fun Ghoul asks.

“Well I have good news and I have bad news.” Tommy responds, grinning a bit.

His remark was met by four unamused expressions.

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat awkwardly, “Well. The bad news is that the syringe? It’s some kind of new BL drug. Really newfangled and shit. It’s still in the development and testing stages, but so far, they’re getting the results they’re hoping for. They already started to use it on the, erm… ‘Difficult’ cases.”

“Shit.” Dr. D mutters.

“So what does the drug exactly do?” Fun Ghoul wonders.

Tommy just looks down, shifting uncomfortably.

“Well?” Kobra prompts.

Cherri Cola steps up and slowly says, “It’s supposed to… Well. Fuck. Guys, it’s supposed to completely brainwash the person.”

“A new and more effective way to create a Draculoid.” News A Go Go quips bitterly, “It’s supposed to be quite painful too. Most of the victims died within 36 hours of being injected.”

 “What’s the good news?” Jet Star asks almost desperately. Almost, because, well it’s Jet Star, who always keeps a cool head. It’s an almost comical contrast between Star and Kobra, who looks ready to lose his stomach over the desert ground. Fun Ghoul supposes he doesn’t look much better, and he’s suddenly glad that the Kid decided to stay with their leader. She would probably get a heart attack if she heard this.

“There is a cure.” Tommy pipes in, somewhat triumphantly, as if he’s the one to thank.

Fun Ghoul supposes they’ll all end up thanking him anyway.

“A cure?” Dr. D asks befuddled.

“Apparently,” Tommy explains, bouncing a bit on his heels, “the higher ups got pissed off after their captives kept dying. So, the Exterminators demanded a 100% foolproof cure be made in case the victims don’t show signs of becoming ‘converted’.”

“Are you serious?!” Kobra exclaims looking as if Christmas and his birthday came early, which, Fun Ghoul supposes isn’t an unfair comparison. He himself feels like screaming in joy.

“As a hard attack.” Tommy vows.

“Where?”

“Battery City obviously.”

“But before you start celebrating, remember that this is Battery City. That, and the cure has to be given before… well, death obviously.” Cherri Cola tells them.

 “Killjoy.” Fun Ghoul mumbles.

They have a little over 24 hours to think of a plan, sneak into Battery City, steal the antidote and save Party.

No pressure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So all the people mentioned in these chapter are actually official 'Killjoys'. Google it.  
> Also, I'm looking for a beta reader. I'm not sure how exactly to get one on this site, so I'll just leave my e-mail address here: alexpar101@yahoo.com E-mail me if you're interested! =)  
> Thanks for all of the comments and kudos on the previous chapter!  
> Comments are my addiction of choice? *hint, hint*

**Author's Note:**

> So... Was it absolutely terrible? Comments and kudos absolutely appreciated! Feedback keeps me running!


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